


Birdcage

by thortasha



Category: Tasertricks - Fandom, Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thortasha/pseuds/thortasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki finds Darcy Lewis entertaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She walked by his window.

She had done nothing of interest, nothing to catch his attention, but he saw her walk by. At first it made no difference, countless of people walked by his little room daily and paid him no mind.

No, no one paid him mind anymore. He had been exchanged between the Earth and Asgard so many times it was almost laughable. The man he had once called father had no purpose for him, accepting him home as a prisoner only to find he had no room for him.

No room to spare for the man he had once called his son, or so he claimed. But Loki knew better. He knew his father was ashamed of him, of the stories and gossip his presence would stir amongst the Asgardians.

So, he was sent back to Earth, returned as a prisoner to the planet he had once tried to rule. No other worlds tried to save him, there was no purpose in him pursuing freedom.

Loki was almost numb to the idea. Thor had tried his best to defend him from the government organizations that held him accountable.

Thor had promised he would watch over Loki himself. He had promised it would not happen again, if only they would give Loki another chance.

If they would allow Loki to be free on Earth.

But Thor failed to understand that living with him, under his thumb, hidden in his shadow, Loki would never be free. Loki would never be able to be his own man, his own person. All he would ever be was the brother of Thor, the one who must be watched over.

The other one.

So he had chosen to be a prisoner of SHIELD. He had chosen to live his life behind bars and glass and be shut away from the rest of the world because it would be his own choice.

If he was damned to spend the rest of his life as a prisoner, he would choose the sentencing.

Though Thor still attempted to exert some sort of control over his life; a day didn't go by where he would not try to visit him, attempt to promise him freedom when it was truly the last thing Loki wanted.

He would just stare past him, pay Thor no acknowledgement when he came.

If he acknowledged his brother at all, even with disdain, Thor wouldn't understand. He would misconstrue his hatred for pain that Thor could alleviate. He would still be convinced that he could be Loki's savior, that he alone could save Loki from his enemies, from himself.

Loki wished he could laugh at his brother, at how seemingly stupid he was.

Yet the laughter never came, the joviality never entered his heart. There was nothing to mock Thor about, only things that made Loki grow indifferent to him.

That was the opposite of love, wasn't it? Indifference.

Loki would then watch; he would note the different people that would stroll by his window so carelessly, as if he had never posed a threat to him at all. In Asgard, his presence brought nothing but speculation and stories.

Here, he was soon another faded face, a memory no one in the fast paced realm of Midgard could dwell on for too long without hindering their own life. And so he would watch; he watched all the agents of SHIELD walk by, discussing trivial matters or important matters. None of them looked his way unless it was accidental, they would make brief eye contact before getting distracted again in their own conversation, in their own world.

Yes, Loki was of no consequence to them. He was another face in a sea of a million that lived inside their thoughts.

He could almost smile; how quickly he was forgotten by all.

Except for Thor, he reminded himself with bitter distaste.

They were just faces; passing faces of people Loki didn't know besides what they would divulge by his cell every once and again. He knew some of them had marital troubles, and some couldn't figure out what was the trouble with their cars. He knew there were people causing chaos all over the world, but he knew not their names or where.

She walked by his window in the same manner, prattling on about some man she had met once at a bar. He hadn't paid her physical presence much attention, only catching the bounce of her dark hair and the contrast of the hair with her pale skin. But that was it, and soon she too had gone past, leaving little to no real impression on Loki. She wasn't special or remarkable in any sense of the word.

She was talking to the woman Thor had become so fond of, the scientist, who seemed indifferent to the girl and her trivial qualms with life.

And then they were gone, just like all the others. And Loki had paid them little thought afterwards. She was of no consequence to him. Her life, her successes and her failings would bear no repercussions for him. She was just another face, another body.

And a few hours later, he caught her walking by again-the familiarity in the movement of her hair told him it was her. She was on the phone, struggling to push the other arm through the sleeve of her jacket as he assumed she went home for the day.

It was an obnoxiously yellow jacket that Loki immediately despised. She had paused by his window to try and pull the jacket on, and Loki heard her quickly explain to the other side of the phone that she had to beg to get out early so she could go out that night.

She begin to explain where she was going-a little bar she'd never heard of but soon her voice faded as she walked down the other side of the hall.

Loki had wondered where she had gone, but then forgotten about her all together, and her plans, instead focusing on himself and how one could find amusement locked away in a cell.

Soon she began walking by his little cell almost daily, he assumed it was the quickest way to her office. He begin to watch her daily, not really noticing her as anything more than entertainment.

He watched her carry heavy boxes behind Thor's scientist, rolling her eyes or mimicking the woman as she rattled off tasks for the day.

Once she had been rushing by his cell with some tube of some blue smoking chemical. He'd heard the glass shatter and he heard her muffled shouting as she attempted to clean it up, only to be scolded because it was acid. And Loki found himself smirking slightly at the stupid mortal girl.

He learned then her name was Darcy, as Thor's scientist shouted it multiple times.

Most days, things were not so blatantly entertaining. Most days, the girl was on her phone or with Thor's scientest, talking about this man and what they did the nights before. The stories were usually the same premise-she would go out, meet him, they would have drinks. But it was the little differences in each story that Loki found compelling. He had never meant to listen to her, to pay her any heed, but she seemed to be unintentionally forcing him to notice her. What with her clumsiness, her loud voice on the phone.

And Loki had become disgruntled in realizing she proved mildly interesting, at least enough to distract him every once and again.

She would retell what happened the night before, talking about musicians she had met and their dramatized reactions to things she said or talking about a catty girl she had run into and regretted starting a conversation with. Her renditions of stories were often dramatic, with flailing limbs and changing voices to personify the different people she spoke to. It was like watching a poorly written play, one only meant for laughs and mockery.

Loki didn't mind though, and found himself hooked on her words, often waiting for her to walk by again to hear the next installment. He wondered why she had never passed by his cell before, what in her daily route had changed. Or perhaps she had passed by a hundred times, and Loki had just begun to notice her.

Loki began to listen to her conversations, just little bits and pieces of the muffled sound that came through his bullet proof window. Something about them stuck out, something about them was so terrible he couldn't help but be drawn to the sound.

He begin to notice certain details-which clubs she liked most versus the ones the male took her to after some coercing. He noticed how her tone would change depending on who she was talking to-how her reactions seemed more relaxed and flamboyant when she was on the phone as opposed to when she was walking with the scientist, where her quaking voice attempted to repress her excitement as she spoke.

She became a source of entertainment for him, her daily misadventures with the outside world proving to be somewhat amusing. She was odd-simple, yet very complex in her character. She was nothing extraordinary, in what he gathered from observing other young women, but something about her made her stand out to him, made her unique in a sea of hundreds of faces. Perhaps it was her romanticizing and exaggerating every trivial act within her life was comical to listen to that made her appear more...appealing, for lack of a better word.

Or perhaps she was the least boring person he had come into contact with as of late. Whatever the reason, Loki enjoyed her presence somewhat, and soon found himself waiting for her to walk by, waiting to be entertained by her stories.

Loki soon realized she was guaranteed to walk by at least four times a day: when she came to work, when she would leave and return from lunch, and when she would leave for the day. Her stories were trivial, stupid and frivolous, yet they gave him something to think on. They gave him something to dwell on for a bit that wasn't his own personal misery.

Darcy liked to speak about the man in her life most often, especially to whomever was around. Loki wondered if she had ever had a relationship before, the way she endlessly prattled on about it. It had become nearly the center of her life.

Loki didn't mind for the most part, Darcy's stupid stories only provided him amusement. Though he could tell the scientist was getting more and more agitated with it each day.

One she told Darcy to just stop talking about it for five minutes. There was a long pause before Darcy wandered up the hall again on her phone, saying Jane (so that was her name) was something of a bitch.

Loki found it funny, though refrained from responding with anymore than a smirk. Darcy's stories were his entertainment but he had no right to contribute to them, nor show her he was listening.

Darcy also had a habit of leaving out details. For instance, it took him weeks before she divulged the man's name-his name was Ryan. And sometimes she would start a story, but Loki would never find out the ending. Once she'd been recounting felt ill before a date where he was taking her out for Chinese, but Loki had never known what happened. It was in those moments that Loki found himself embellishing on her words, wondering how Darcy would have acted in that situation.

He assumed with her luck she probably would have gotten sick on the date, and oddly part of him wished she had not. He almost had begin to root for her, the little plucky heroine in his stories. He liked to think about what kind of restaurant she would go to-was it an elegant kind or was it a fast food type place, with only tables for the select few who chose to live out their lives there? He liked to think Darcy settled for fast food places, yet only because she felt she was not cut out for nicer places.

She felt a sense of not belonging. Darcy struck him as someone who lived her life to please others. She would take orders from Jane, pile on work and roll her eyes, but she did nothing about it. She only settled and took what life handed to her.

She never aspired for more, and it almost disappointed Loki. She believed she could never be equal to her superiors, prove herself worthy of their company. She assumed she had to take on a subordinate role.

When how wrong she was; she had managed to entice Loki with her charming clumsiness yet seemed completely unaware of how persuasive she was. It wasn't just anyone who could capture Loki's full attention, clearly from how he had ignored those before her.

Even now, he took what little information he had to build a story about her in his mind. She fascinated him; Loki had never been fascinated by a person before.

Loki liked to build on her stories. He sometimes wondered what Ryan looked like—he had gathered he was tall from Darcy's menial descriptions of him. He wondered how he treated Darcy. She always talked about the things they did, but never how he was or how he acted. She would talk about the man, often times, and he wondered what he looked like.

He pondered upon the face of the stranger.

She'd given him a few descriptive qualities that were vague and shallow, nothing Loki could build off of. He wondered what kind of man Darcy would like, if he was thin and lanky or if he resembled Thor physically.

He resented the idea that Ryan could look like Thor, that his storyteller could find something romantic about him...possibly.

It wasn't necessarily that she was his, but Loki was sure he paid her more heed than the son of Odin did. Loki sometimes felt he was the only one truly listening to Darcy's words.

He had looked at her once, something he had never really done before when listening to her. She had served no more purpose than She wasn't talking, she was listening Jane as she ran over what was to be done throughout the rest of day, walking down the hall as she nodded slowly, empathetically, though her eyes gave away her boredom.

She was small, curvy, with pale skin and dark hair. Her glasses were dotted with water, and he assumed it was raining outside. She had a serene expression on her face, and Loki wondered if she always looked that way or only was there because she was bored. She was pretty, for a mortal. She was far from what he would call beautiful, but her face was pleasant enough.

So that was the face of his story teller.

Loki soon began to resent the days Jane would do most of the talking. She had nothing to contribute to conversation, only giving out orders or discussing her relationship with Thor, something Loki certainly did not want to hear.

It was on those days that Loki would watch Darcy's face, the way her lips would twitch like she wanted to speak yet refrained from doing so in order to allow Jane to continue with her useless story.

Loki wanted to say something, to stand up and stare Jane down in the hopes he could frighten her into shutting up.

He didn't want to hear her. He wanted to hear Darcy.

And he hated the way Jane would dismiss Darcy. Each time the girl opened her mouth, she was immediately silenced either by Jane telling her to wait another moment or to be ignored completely as the scientist continued as if she hadn't been interrupted.

She was seen as trivial, stupid to Jane Foster, who instead would rather Darcy to listen to her go on and on about her accomplishments, about her relationship with Thor, about her own qualms.

Loki begin to despise Jane Foster and every syllable that was uttered from her lips. He wondered how Darcy could endure that talking, endlessly, each and every day.

There was something about Darcy and Jane's relationship that Loki found familiar, almost comforting. Loki wondered if Darcy felt she was living in Jane's shadow, living to please Jane and comfort Jane to the point of sacrificing any other purpose she may have had in the world.

With some resentment, Loki wondered if Ryan treated Darcy that way, if the world treated Darcy that way, like a secondary person.

Like she didn't matter, in the greatness of people like Jane Foster.

He now looked at Darcy with an empathetic eye, like he was watching a fallen friend as she walked by his cell every day, talking about Ryan, her life.

Something about her stories, or perhaps the way she told the tales had changed. Perhaps Loki was listening with a new sense of familiarity.

Now, when she spoke about Ryan and the previous nights, her voice sounded different, new-full of emotions and personality he had not seen before. When the nights were good, he could almost hear the excitement in her voice as she discussed them in detail. She would giddily talk about where they went the night before, what they ate. She would talk about what she wore, how her hair was done. And she would talk about laughs they would share.

She would reminisce about Ryan in a way that made Loki slightly envious, especially if the man was anything like the world around her. Did he care to listen to her, or was he like Jane Foster and the countless others who wanted Darcy as a pair of ears and nothing more? Or did he listen to her, like Loki did. Did he find her stories humorous, or see them as a waste of time?

Loki wished he knew.

He watched her face when she would walk by, how the skin would shift and convey her mood. When she was bored, her eyes would glaze over but she would furrow her brow again to remind herself to listen, to pay attention.

She was courteous, she wanted to be liked and she wanted to prove she was a good friend.

When she was happy, she would smile in a small way. The left corner of her mouth would raise slightly. That's when she was truly happy.

Her outlandish and dramatic behavior was a show; only when she would give a tiny smile was she truly happy.

Loki wondered if the world noticed this, or it was only he. Like a secret that only they both shared.

And her mouth would twist into a frown when she was sad, her face lost in confusion as she wondered what she did wrong.

She wore that face most often, especially after a bad night.

When the nights were bad, her voice was softer, slower. She would make excuses for his behavior, about why he had said what he said to her, or had done what he had done to her. She wouldn't acknowledge he had wanted to hurt her, merely saw her pain as the result of her own insecurities.

And Loki would wonder how she, someone of such character and interest, could allow the behavior to continue, how she could allow herself to be mistreated on a daily basis.

Some nights would be horrible, and she would walk by the next day with fresh tears in her eyes, her arms folded protectively across her chest as she moved swiftly by him.

And he would become angry, bitter for her sake.

Darcy was the one they stepped on, wiped the mud of their boots on, but seemingly did not care when she asked to be taken care of, to be heard. It filled him with bitter rage, a fury he could not quash.

Had he been free, he would have defended her, sworn vengeance against all who dared to draw a tear forth from her eye.

Loki would protect her from them, all of them who scorned her, hurt her.

Loki wondered how people could let her be treated this way; he wondered why no one ever dared to speak up and question the treatment she received.

He wondered how someone like her could be mistreated at all, scorned on a daily basis by those she held near to her for no other reason than they saw her as frivolous, a waste of time.

Loki felt an inclination to protect her, perhaps based on his own mistreatments as a youth. He felt a need to shield her, hide her.

People like Darcy weren't meant for the world for she only fell into darkness, neglect that she would never overcome.

She only served to make others happy, to give up her own voice to echo theirs.

If Loki could have, he would have kept her away from everyone always. He would have kept her away from those who hurt her most and kept her safe and sound, like a bird in a bird cage.

He could keep her to himself, keep her kind heart away from those would misuse it for their own selfish purpose. And he would protect her, he would listen to her stories.

He'd appreciate her, cherish her for all she had to offer. He would let her to know she was valued, loved.

She smiled at him once.

It had been after weeks of walking by his cell, after he had taken time to get to know her every quirk and trait and vowed to protect them all.

He'd been watching her as she walked by, waiting for Jane before they went out for lunch. She had been meandering, reading rules and regulations on the walls around her when she'd turned and caught him staring.

She hadn't been bothered, or didn't seem it by him watching her. Perhaps she had noticed him doing it in weeks past, just grown accustomed to the fact that he watched her.

Perhaps she could tell they were kindred spirits, both victims of the people around them.

But she was staring at the face of a prisoner, a mass murderer and a forgotten son, yet she only smiled slightly apprehensively, awkwardly and waved weakly.

"Hi," she had said, her voice shaking with nerves from the other side.

And Loki had only nodded slightly before turning away, contemplating on how Darcy had only seen him for him, not his past, not his family, not as the younger brother of Thor, but as Loki.

She had smiled and waved at Loki, for no other reason than that she had wanted to.

And for a brief second, Loki's heart soared; he had never met anyone who acknowledged him for him, who gave him a smile for no other reason than they could. Ad for a brief moment, he wished he could say something, to tell Darcy he understood her and he was compassionate towards her slights.

For a moment he wished he could take her somewhere, away from everyone and everything that caused them strife. His past wouldn't matter to her, he had a chance to be on his own.

To be Loki.

He turned back to look at her, to try and talk with her about something, anything. She should know he listened, he found her enjoyable. But she was gone. He pushed himself up from his bench and walked up to the window, to see if perhaps she was only a bit down the hall so he could capture her attention again.

But she was gone, not a trace of her remained except for the memory that lingered in Loki's mind.

His fist slammed against the glass, and he shallowly hoped his anger could shatter it, knowing it would never work.

He was trapped behind a wall of glass and bars from that world, from Darcy, and only because he wanted to be his own man. Perhaps now his staring had scared her off; perhaps he was never to see her again, the one woman whom had ever captured his attention.

Perhaps she was off running into the arms of Ryan, Thor, men like them who would never truly care for her, not the way Loki did.

What if she stopped walking down those halls all together? What if today was the last day he ever saw her, and she instead married Ryan or a man just like him, never knowing of Loki's empathy, his understanding and instead settling for someone who would mistreat her.

Forever more he would be tortured by her memory, by her presence, while she could go on living without ever knowing about his existence, how he cared for her. Whose shadow she would hide under, never truly cherishing herself for the gifts she offered.

Loki was the one locked away, damned to observe her from his cage.

He was trapped observing her, trapped behind his bars and walls and guards with nothing but a memory of Darcy and a dying hope she would return.


	2. Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously never thought I'd add on anymore to Birdcage, yet your demand for it has inspired me to write more. 
> 
> I do hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the support!

The familiarity of her voice jostled Loki from his sleep.

Lying on his cot, he thought he heard her laugh, distant and quiet, as if coming from a different realm. His eyes had snapped open, and he wondered if his own dreams had torn from his sleep, if he had just imagined the sound of her laughter only to be heartbroken by his reality once again.

It would be the first time his mind had conned him into optimistic hope, only to have his meager dream shattered almost as quickly as it had formed.

For days now, he had hoped in vain to see her walk by his window again. He almost felt as if he'd lost a friend, his peer. She was the only person, Asgardian or Midgardian alike, whom Loki ever felt connected to.

That he believed he…understood, someone he could empathize with. It struck him odd how his only real connection had been with a mortal woman, one who was an ally of his brother no less. But Darcy was a kindred spirit, he had come to understand that as he observed her through his glass.

Just by listening, Loki had concluded he knew her better than anyone who had ever spoken to the woman. Yet, he had been the very one to drive her away, drive her back into the arms of those who would never give a damn about her, who only used her for her courteous behavior and her tendency to give love rather than take it.

He was trapped, damned to spend eternity alone with only her taunting image playing over and over again in his mind, the image of her pale skin and dark hair plastered forever in front of him, her little crooked smirk almost mocking him, torturing him into a bitter madness.

Loki begin to think he was stupid for harboring a bond between them when truly nothing could come from their connection; Darcy was trapped within the mortal prison she made for herself, while he was trapped by his own stupidity.

He attempted to remind himself she was nothing more than a mortal, another face in a sea of millions. There was nothing particularly unique or special about her, she had just been a girl that he found among the masses.

He wanted to hate her for grasping his attention like she had, for meddling in his business and becoming a staple in his brain. Loki wanted to need to hurt her, to torture her like she was torturing him, make her pay for his life, his own thoughts, a personal hell—

-but he couldn't. He couldn't fathom an ounce of hatred towards her, and when he did, the bitter rage almost instantly turned inward, directed towards himself.

How could he wish her harm, when he had sworn himself as her protector just days ago?

No, Loki could not hate Darcy. He could not harm Darcy. She was his—his friend, his story teller.

Darcy was his, and if he had to remain imprisoned in her memory for eternity, so be it.

Yet now, he lay in hoping another night, wondering if in fact Darcy had actually returned or was just a figment of his imagination.

He laid in silence for another moment, focused on the sounds coming closer from the other end of the hall.

He heard her voice again, gently wish a goodbye to whomever she was speaking to.

Loki pushed himself from the cot in an anticipation he did not believe he could muster, least of all for some mortal girl whom he used for entertainment. But here he was, anxious to see the face of Darcy, his story teller, his salvation in this hell he himself created.

Soon enough, she walked by, her dark hair pulled off of her face as she stared down at her phone, hitting the screen once or twice before sliding the phone into the pocket of her jeans. Her presence brought an immediate relief and comfort to Loki; knowing she was still here, that he hadn't frightened her off the first time made him believe she perhaps recognized a familiarity in him as well.

Perhaps she too saw him as a kindred spirit.

She felt him staring again, he could tell by the way she stopped mid step, her eyes slowly rolling towards Loki before her head gradually turned towards him, her eyes distrusting of the prisoner whom she now had caught staring at her multiple times.

"Can I  _help_  you?" she asked, her voice housing the hint of a threat. Loki found it charming, a touch precious even. She truly had no idea what she was presenting herself up against; his presence, the hauntingly terrifying acts of his past stirred no fear in her.

He wondered if she knew why he was behind this wall, what he had done to get himself here.

Loki wondered if the truth would frighten her off, if his admission to who he was would send her stumbling backwards with wide eyes and horror, fresh with a new fright as to why he was staring at her all this time. She would mistake their bond for something else, something horrific; she would think he'd want to kill her, that he was lying to her to use her.

All things that could not be farther from truth, Loki thought of the irony around it all.

He strolled over slowly, cautiously, a meek smile present on his lips as to give the impression he was less dangerous than she would think. "Do you have the time?" he asked softly, cautiously.

Loki did not want her to see him as dangerous; no, she couldn't. It would ruin everything, she would be gone forever from his life if she knew who he was, what violence and mayhem truly lingered behind that innocent smile.

Those qualities, those which turned Loki into the villain, were not for Darcy. No, she did not deserve those things from him.

Darcy looked puzzled as to why a prisoner would need to know the time at all, but nonetheless reached into her back pocket and looked at her phone.

"It's nine thirty-two," she said cautiously before looking up at him again. Perhaps the glass gave her a sense of security, or her perhaps her character was always this brash, but she quirked a brow—her face still masked in confusion—as she continued sardonically. "Got a hot date or something?"

He smirked slightly, shaking his head as he sat on his bench. "Far from that," he replied coolly. "Merely wanted to know how long I was to be remaining in this cell."

"Well, what'd you do to get back there, big guy?" she asked, putting her phone back in her pocket and keeping a cautious eye on him.

It was as Loki had figured, his face was no longer associated with his past. He was just a forgotten man now, falling victim to the ferociousness of his actions, completely overshadowed by his deeds.

This was Loki's chance to gain her trust, to make her see more of him than his past. She needed to know Loki for who he was, not what he had done. Those actions he took in the past would never befall her. He would ensure that.

"An innocent man framed for a crime he did not commit," Loki lied seamlessly, gazing at her from behind the glass, taking in everything about her; how she stood, the way she crossed her arms, the way her mouth twisted.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right—"

"You don't believe me?" Loki asked with a feigned hurt smile as he watched her. It was humorous to him how he knew so much about her, yet she knew really nothing of him.

"Not a chance," she snorted, shaking her head in disbelief as she kept her arms folded across her chest. "Look, buddy, I bet there's a lot worse people in here than you, but there's no way—no way—you got thrown in here for no reason."

He irked a brow, surprised by her tendency to fight back with him, when he had seen her take nothing but the worst treatment from the rest of the world. "How mistaken you are."

He glanced at her, she seemed to be waiting for him to continue.

"I was the victim of circumstance," he said, slowly rising to his feet yet again, beginning a slow pace back and forth as he watched her reaction to his words. "Cast out by my own family, I became consumed with attempting to belong somewhere, anywhere. I found solace in a group like me, people who did not belong to anyone but each other. There was anger, unrest among them…they took out their aggression on the Earth just a few months ago…"

He glanced at her. "I'm sure you remember the devastation it caused."

He paused, wanting to see how the news sank in, the realization that he was involved with the destruction on the Earth months prior, he was the one the news had slandered and mocked. Loki was the one you were meant to be scared of.

Her eyes widened, the colour draining from her already pale face. She looked at the ground, up at him. Yes, the face of destruction and chaos stood before her, shielded by only a layer of glass.

"Y-you're…" she stammered out, taking a clumsy step backwards. Yes, she had responded like he knew she would; her body had tensed and she was preparing to run, run away from him, from everyone.

"You're—"

"Loki," he responded quickly, attempting to now soothe her worries before he lost her. She had no need to know the actions against Earth were his doing, because she would never be victim to his vengeance. If only she knew how he'd been watching, how he knew her so well, she would understand his actions were a personal vendetta, that she was safe from all pain now that he had seen her, noticed her. Now that she was his, his powers would only be used to help her, to hide her.

"But you must understand," he lied brokenly, his voice defeated, lost as he looked at her with seemingly truthful eyes. "I by no means wanted the chaos they brought on."

She stood, frozen in fear as she gazed at him with wide, doe-like eyes.

Loki was not meant for greatness, for anything of remembrance. He looked back at Darcy, who too was not meant to be remembered. She was meant to be the friend, the girlfriend, the other one to everyone but Loki.

He saw her for more than what she was understood to be.

He saw her for Darcy.

"I am the one whose face you have seen," he continued quietly. "I was the one deemed ring leader, when really I had nothing to do with their plans, with their destruction."

He looked at her. "I was merely a pawn, the talking piece if you will. They forced me into their schemes, threatening to end my life if I did not play along. Once they were defeated, they left me as their scapegoat."

Darcy took a long time, as if she was processing what he said before she could react. She still had that horrified look on her face, but it was tinted with a disbelief at his claims.

"How am I supposed to believe…anything you say?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly as she watched him, her eyes tense, frightened.

"Someone needed to know the truth," he said, turning and walking back towards his bench. "It's not like you are going to break me out of this cell, nor do I have any plans to escape."

She looked at him quizzically. "Then why—"

"Why tell my story?" he finished for her, smiling slightly at her surprised face, assuming he had correctly finished her thoughts. He sighed, sitting back against the wall. "It gives me comfort to know someone knows I'm not the true villain in this."

She took tiny cautious steps towards him, her eyes still as frightened and confused. "If you're innocent," she asked, trying to figure him out. "Why not just tell someone? I mean, Thor talks about getting you out all the time—"

Loki's façade fell the moment she brought up Thor; he felt himself tense at the mere mention of that man, the one who had allowed him to fall into abyss. Alone.

"Thor enjoys seeing the worst in me," Loki hissed, though he attempted to add a gentleness to his words in order not to scare her off. "Do not let his gestures fool you; he merely wants me free so he can act out his own punishment against me."

Darcy watched him from behind the glass, her horror now giving way to a slight curiosity. He had intrigued her, just like she had done to him. "So, you would rather be back there—" she said, tapping on the glass with her index finger. "Then out here?"

"It would seem the more gracious punishment," he said with a small smile, wishing he could touch her hand. "After all, Thor would be less than merciful now that I have hurt his precious earth—"

"But, I mean, you didn't really," Darcy said slowly, watching him carefully though Loki saw she had already bought some of his lies. "They made you do it."

His past did not matter; as long as he was back there, he was useless. He saw no harm in twisting his past for Darcy to see him in a better light, to make her better understand him without being tainted by fear of him and his past.

Loki gave her a small smile, but said nothing else on the matter.

Darcy looked at him skeptically. "Am I the only one who knows this about you?"

"It would seem," he said, the smile still hinted on his lips. "You've been the only one brave enough to listen."

Darcy shrugged slightly, her fear slowly dying down as she stood there, though he could tell she was still tense. "I listen to a lot of people, believe me."

He smiled knowingly. "Well, then allow me the honor of listening to you, Miss…?"

"Darcy, Darcy Lewis," she said, folding her arms back over her chest. She was not one to trust him completely so easily, but Loki had assumed that would be the case.

She shook her head. "You don't have to listen to me," she said with a shrug, though her movement was tense. "I'm pretty boring."

"Come now, Miss Lewis," he implored her, his smile still pushing at the corners of his mouth. "You do not strike me as one who is boring in the slightest."

She rolled her eyes. "Then what do I strike you as?"

He shrugged casually. "A strong, intelligent, and beautiful young woman," he said casually, watching her blush at the word beautiful.

He wondered if Ryan ever called her beautiful and meant it. Loki had his doubts about it.

She seemed embarrassed to have been flirted with, let alone by a prisoner. "Have I offended you, Miss Lewis?" he inquired gently.

"No, I mean…it's just…a guy in prison starts flirting with you," she said, attempting to brush off the remark as nothing, though the lingering pink on her cheeks gave her away. "I mean, it's an awkward feeling."

"I would imagine so," he said with a small smirk. "Do forgive me."

She forced a shrug, looking sheepishly at the ground. "It's…hey, I mean, you're probably bored in there and you know, have your…urges."

Darcy frowned at her own very poor choice of words, the pink on her cheeks glowing brightly again as she tried to cover her words up. "I mean, I'd flirt with all the girls who walked by too!"

Loki was feeling a touch merciless as he watched her fumble with her vocabulary. "I do not flirt with every girl that walks by."

"Is that so?" she inquired anxiously.

"Undoubtedly," he said quietly with a smirk, looking her directly in the eyes. "I'm  _very_  particular."

She flinched at his words, taking a step back as if she could sense every danger, every intention he had towards her in his words.

"Listen, I don't want to waste your precious time—" Darcy began quickly, only to be cut off by Loki.

"I have nothing but time."

"I have a boyfriend," Darcy blurted out suddenly, seeming to just get him to stop.

The hurt in Loki's eyes was now genuine as he thought of Ryan, how Darcy had likely settled for someone so much less than what she deserved when she chose him for a partner.

"So I see," Loki mumbled quietly, watching her as her face softened as she watched him.

Loki had known about Ryan, about how Darcy cared for him. How could he allow himself to be surprised by this news?

"So…yeah," she continued lamely. "Don't flirt with me."

"I'm sorry to have offended you, Miss Lewis," he said flatly, barely able to look at her in his state of anger at Ryan, humiliation at how she had rejected him.

"You…you didn't offend me," she said with a shrug, looking at him. "What girl wouldn't want to be told she was pretty…even by a dude in prison?"

He glanced at her, smiling slightly at her efforts to console him. "I must know who this lucky man is," he said softly.

Darcy shrugged, though he could see the corner of her mouth raise. She was happy as she thought of Ryan.

Loki's hatred towards the man cemented.

"His name is Ryan," she said. "He's cute—tall, brown hair, kind of tan—basically what every teen heart throb looks like."

Loki flinched with rage as he visualized the man in his head, so similar to those exact men he had hoped she strayed from.

"So I see."

Darcy's phone went off in her pocket. She pulled it out and rolled her eyes slightly as she looked at the contact. "Listen, my boss is calling me," she said, ignoring the call and putting the phone back into her pocket. "But, um, but maybe I'll swing by later or something."

Loki smiled slightly as she spoke to him, made a promise to him.

"If you wish," Loki said calmly.

She nodded, smiling weakly as she rushed down the hall towards work, towards Jane—the woman who had now robbed him of time with Darcy.

But she would return, Loki trusted that his Darcy would return.


End file.
